


I Should Hope So

by ghoulsarebetter



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Kinda, M/M, Tattoos, just boys being dumb and cute basically, like it isn't even there, the tiniest bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 23:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15918279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulsarebetter/pseuds/ghoulsarebetter
Summary: Shane couldn’t remember Ryan ever voicing a fear of needles or life-long commitment, but then again, Shane never could remember his friend’s laundry list of fearsOr, a fic inspired bythistumblr post because I couldn't help myself.





	I Should Hope So

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic and I'm slightly terrified but also excited, so bear with me.
> 
> Also many thanks to Kat for forcing me to write this and then writing the summary to make me actually post it. Much appreciated :)
> 
> Obviously this is all fake and if you in anyway know the boys beyond watching them on the screen in front of you, please click out immediately. Thanks.

Shane didn’t really know how they ended up here. One moment, him and Ryan had been scrolling through google, looking at images of different spooky tattoos, and the next they were entering a tattoo shop down the block, asking if they accepted walk-ins.

After they explained to the woman with the rainbow hair exactly what they each wanted, she went into the back to draw it up, leaving the two boys to entertain themselves while she prepared. Shane plopped his body down onto a wooden bench sat in the middle of the room, extending his long legs in front of him, and checked his email on his phone. Ryan, however, walked around the lobby picking up every single item, his constant running commentary creating a nice buzz in Shane’s ear. After five steady minutes of his babbling, when he just barely caught the glass globe that his elbow knocked off the counter before it shattered on the ground, Shane sighed.

“Come on, buddy,” he said, patting the seat next to him. “Sit. Calm down.”

Ryan raked his fingers through his hair and laughed nervously. He sat down, but avoided Shane’s eyes, his cheeks pinking every so slightly. His legs were jiggling up and down, a constant shake that was moving the entire bench. Shane couldn’t remember Ryan ever voicing a fear of needles or life-long commitment, but then again, Shane never could remember his friend’s laundry list of fears. 

Shane rolled his eyes, just barely keeping in his laughter, and draped his arm across the back of the bench behind Ryan. The tips of his fingers brushed lightly against Ryan’s opposite shoulder in an effort to physically be there for Ryan, while also not drawing attention to the fact that he was freaking out. Calming down a nervous Ryan Beragra was a delicate task. 

Their eyes met and both boys exhaled a laugh. Ryan drew in a deep breath through his nose, and collapsed forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. Shane thumped him once on his back, squeezed where his neck and shoulder met tightly, and released the warm body beneath his hand, drawing his limbs back onto his own lap. The line between friendly comfort and too friendly groping was thin and one that Shane could not always see.

“Okay, guys, I’m ready for you,” the woman said from behind them, a warm smile on her face. They followed her to her station, where a long, tall table that had been padded in black leather stood next to two rolling chairs and some other foreign machinery. 

“Who’s going first?”

Shane turned to Ryan, prepared to tell him that he could go first but he was met with the other boy’s white face and wide eyes, goosebumps visibly erupting along his body. Ryan didn’t even blink as their eyes connected, but merely gulped. He opened his mouth as though to say something, but nothing came out. 

“Alrighty,” Shane said. “I’ll go first.” He slipped his jean jacket off and began rolling up his red flannel shirt, sliding easily onto the table. The tattoo artist started assembling everything, talking through everything that she was doing and everything she would do. As she started applying the stencil, double checking with Shane that the placement was good, Ryan excused himself to use the bathroom.

Shane stared after Ryan’s retreating broad back, his eyebrows furrowing over his clear glasses but didn’t say anything.

“Do you need to go check on him?” the woman asked, flashing him a sympathetic smile.

He laid back, extending his left arm beside his body, forearm facing upwards, and said, “Nah, he’ll talk himself down.”

Shane’s tattoo was small, and once the woman had started, it only took a little over thirty minutes to finish. As she was wiping it with some kind of alcohol mixture to clean his arm of blood and plasma, Ryan appeared beside Shane looking marginally better than he had earlier.

“Holy fuck,” he said, a wide smile on his face. “It looks sick.”

Shane looked down at his arm, thin dark black lines combining to create a small bridge outline on his forearm. Around the image were the words _tell tales of us._

After Shane’s tattoo got wrapped up and the tattoo artist explained how he should care for it, he stood up. “It’s your turn, buddy,” Shane said, clapping Ryan on the shoulder. Ryan released a big breath, and whipped off his shirt, exposing miles of tanned, toned skin. Shane’s eyes widened as he felt heat spread across his cheeks and he turned around, trying to conceal his face. Grace escaped him as he smacked right into a wall, causing him to fall slightly back into Ryan. Strong arms caught him, wrapping around his torso, and Ryan murmured, “You okay?” into his ear. 

Shane tried to laugh it off, glancing at the rainbow haired woman to see if she saw him make an ass of himself. Her eyes met his, and she shot him a wink before looking back at her station. Shane cleared his throat, and smiled his thanks to Ryan, before finally sitting down in a chair next to the table. He just had to function normally for a little bit longer, and then he could freak out at the burning hand marks on his body.

After Ryan meticulously checked his stencil in the mirror, asking the woman to change the placement by a centimeter several times, he finally determined that the placement on the left side of his ribs was perfect. Glossy black lines, exactly like the ones on Shane’s body, stared back at him in the mirror, but with the words _our bridge_ around the image. 

Ryan jumped up on the table, earning a small retort about his height from Shane, and laid down. His nervous chatter was back, talking the ear off of the tattoo artist, who merely shot Shane coy glances when Ryan wasn’t looking. Shane chalked it up to confusion in the face of true insanity, and went back to scrolling through twitter.

When the woman asked if Ryan was ready, Shane pocketed his phone and sat up straight. If Ryan reacted to tattoos with only a fraction of the dramatics that he reacted to ghosts with, Shane had to see this. In all honesty, he probably had to handle it, too. 

Ryan took a deep breath, looked straight up to the ceiling, and said, “yup.”

The first mark caused Ryan to suck a breath in sharply, and for the next few marks, he held it in. After only a minute or so, Ryan’s eyes shifted to Shane, and he mothed the word _help._

Shane immediately leaned forward, placing his arm next to Ryan’s leg and he took Ryan’s hand in his own, Ryan’s fingers immediately creating a tight vice around Shane’s.

“Did I ever tell you about that time when I got lost, drunk in a cornfield, in high school?” Shane asked, not waiting for an answer before he delved into the story, pulling out all of his theatrics, and amping up the plot a little bit to make it more entertaining. It worked, though, Ryan now fully engrossed in the story, rolling his eyes when Shane said something ridiculous, and holding his breath when he desperately wanted to laugh. With every smile Ryan shot Shane, the tattoo art would also shoot Shane a look - a warm smile with shining eyes. When her eyes lingered on his rainbow bracelet circling the wrist of the hand holding Ryan’s, Shane’s mind halted.

She thought they were together.

And his dumbass straight friend remained oblivious.

Just as Shane was about to mention something - _anything_ \- about their friendship, Ryan said, “Your hand is clammy.”

Shane’s mouth dropped open and he said, indignantly, “Your hand is clammy.”

“Jesus, it hurts.”

“You’re almost done,” Shane said, shooting his friend a small wink.

The woman cleared her throat then, and asked, “So, are y’all close?”

Ryan, still in his pain daze, answered, “Yeah, of course, that’s why we’re getting matching tattoos,” completely oblivious to the looks she kept giving them.

Her face broke out into a huge smile and she commented on how sweet that was, clearly reacting as though her suspicions of them being a couple had been confirmed. Before Shane could correct Ryan’s statement, the woman chirped, “All done,” and scooted back, giving Ryan room to get down. Shane reluctantly let go of Ryan’s hand, dragging his large palm down his jeans to wipe off their combined sweat, avoiding the tattoo artist’s eyes.

As Ryan checked out his tattoo in the mirror, constant excited chatter falling from his lips, Shane shrugged on his jean jacket. He couldn’t be in this room anymore, with their tattoo artist looking at them like that and with his eyes constantly being drawn to his friend’s sculpted chest. 

Finally, Ryan got his tattoo wrapped up, and pulled his shirt on over his head. Shane only just managed to hold his sigh of relief in, using his long legs to get him to the front of the store as quickly as possible. His mind wasn’t focused on Ryan’s conversation with their tattoo artist, too lost in counting out his cash and planning his escape. But when the woman said, “Make sure to come back to me for any more couple tattoos,” his head whipped up, eyes wide.

Ryan, seemingly oblivious as ever, said, “Yeah, I think we’re definitely coming back to you.”

He used _we._ They were just digging their hole even deeper at this point, and Shane’s queer ass just watched on hopelessly. It wasn’t a big deal, really. It was just awkward. And while Ryan had always been cool with Shane’s bisexuality and supportive of the LGBT+ community in general, it was an entirely different thing for him to be partnered with Shane. But as he inspected Ryan’s face, all Shane could see was an open warmth, still completely oblivious to their predicament.

The door dinged behind them as they walked out in the bright California sunshine. Ryan was busy on his phone as they made their way to his car, Shane following along quietly, his hands shoved deep down into his pockets. As Ryan climbed in behind the wheel, and Shane shoved his gangly limbs into the small passenger seat, Ryan shot him a quizzical look. 

“What?” Shane asked, already getting defensive. He was irritable, for no real reason, other than Ryan’s naivete and his general unobservant ass. Of course it would never occur to him that the tattoo artist might think that they were together, and Shane couldn’t help but be annoyed that that scenario would never occur to Ryan. Or, that he would never have to worry about it. 

Another part of Shane was annoyed that they would never be together. Shane tried to ignore this part.

“Why are you acting weird, dude?” Ryan asked, adjusting the air condition even higher.

“I’m not acting weird, _dude_.”

Ryan’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he kept his eyes on the road. 

“Do you regret the tattoo?” Ryan asked, his voice just barely above a whisper. Shane looked over and saw Ryan’s wide eyes, filled with concern and maybe a little betrayal. It was the same face he made when he thought Shane really didn’t hear that sound on the spirit box or see that movement in the woods, and Shane always had to backtrack to make sure Ryan knew he wasn’t completely discounting him. He lived to tease Ryan, but he never wanted to actually make him doubt himself. 

Shane’s hand shot out and gripped Ryan’s forearm. “No, of course not. I really like them.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

Shane sighed as he brought his hand back into his own lap, shifting his eyes to peer outside the window. If he had to explain the situation to his friend, he certainly couldn’t look him in the eyes. Especially when Ryan inevitably laughed at the possibility of them being seen as a couple.

“She thought we were together.”

Ryan paused. “Yeah… and?”

Shane scoffed, turning to look at the other boy. His annoyance emboldened him, and his trepidation completely evaporated. “She thought we were a couple, Ryan, and you were oblivious to it.”

Ryan’s mouth moved as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out. At last he said, “Yeah, Shane, I fucking knew she thought we were together. I’m not a fucking idiot. But I don’t see the problem.”

Shane’s flat palm slapped down on the center console, his annoyance getting the better of him. “The problem is that when you go back for all the tattoos you want, she’ll ask where your boyfriend is because of course I won’t be there and you’ll have to explain we aren’t together and I’ll have to get my tattoos alone.”

Shane’s chest was heaving by the time he finished his spiel, staring straight ahead. His cheeks were painfully hot, even though he had carefully avoided proclaiming any real feelings, and only pointed out the facts. Still, Shane didn’t like to reveal too much, and the fact that he was this worked up over Ryan’s indifference, definitely felt like _too much_.

“Shane,” Ryan said, his voice bold and sure. Shane gulped but refused to look at him, slightly shaking his head. He looked out his window and noticed they were parked outside Ryan’s apartment complex and he sighed.

“Shane,” Ryan said again, this time reaching over and gripping his left arm, just above where the fresh tattoo was. “I let her think we were together because we’re together.”

Shane whipped his head to look at Ryan. “What?”

Ryan laughed a small, humorless laugh. “Shane, have we not been dating for a few weeks now?”

“No.”

Ryan blinked. “Did I not introduce you as my partner to my cousin last week?”

Shane looked at Ryan completely dumbfounded. “I thought you meant business partner.”

Ryan laughed a real laugh this time. “Did I not literally hold you last night as you fell asleep?”

Shane stammered. “As f-friends?”

“Did we not just get matching tattoos?”

Shane fishmouthed for a few seconds, before responding, “Yes?”

They stared at each other for a minute, and Ryan lifted his eyebrows, asking for a response from Shane. 

“You’re straight, though?” Shane said, his voice raising at the end, even though only minutes ago, he knew that statement to be true.

Ryan scoffed. “Why would you think that?”

Shane ran through his memories, trying to place the one in which Ryan clearly stated his heterosexuality, but he couldn’t find it. “I guess I just assumed?”

Ryan gave him a look that said _you know what happens when you assume_ , but he saved Shane from having to actually hear it. Shane dropped his gaze down to his lap, unsure where to go from here.

“So,” Ryan started, tentative with his words. “Can we go upstairs and take a nap now? Because getting that tattoo drained me and I just want to sleep.”

Shane didn’t say anything, but kept looking down at his long fingers, wrapped around each other, nervously twitching in his lap. A warm hand covered his, stopping his fidgeting, and he looked up to meet Ryan’s eyes. 

“With my boyfriend,” Ryan said. “Which is you, to be clear.” 

Shane’s mouth quirked up on one side, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses, as he hit his head lightly against the headrest. 

“Okay,” Shane said. “Let’s do that.”


End file.
